The Battle of Bita Paka was fought at Bita Paka (also spelled Bitapaka), south of Kabakaul, on the island of New Britain, on 11 September 1914 and was as part of the occupation of German New Guinea by the Australian Naval and Military Expeditionary Force shortly after the outbreak of the First World War. As with the New Zealand operation against German Samoa, the target was the strategically important wireless station, being one of several used by the German East Asiatic Squadron under the command of Vice Admiral Count von Spee. The battle was Australia's first major military engagement of the war and the only significant action of the campaign.

After landing the Australians were resisted by a mixed force of German reservists and Melanesian native police, who forced them to fight their way to their objective. The wireless stations were captured after a day of fighting. Both forces suffered casualties. The remaining German forces on New Britain subsequently fled to Toma and after a brief siege there, the garrison capitulated, ending the resistance to the Australian occupation of the island.

German New Guinea consisted of north-eastern New Guinea and several nearby island groups that are now entirely part of Papua New Guinea. First established in 1884 the main part of the colony was formed by Kaiser-Wilhelmsland, the north-eastern part New Guinea. The islands to the east were called the Bismarck Archipelago and consisted of Neu-Pommern (now New Britain) and Neu-Mecklenburg (now New Ireland). With the exception of German Samoa, all German islands in the Pacific were administratively part of German New Guinea: the German Solomon Islands (Buka, Bougainville and several smaller islands), the Carolines, Palau, the Marianas (except for Guam), the Marshall Islands and Nauru. Although a relatively minor colony, it covered an extensive land area, totalling more than 249,500 km².

While the western half of New Guinea had been administered by the Netherlands since 1828, the eastern half was not annexed by any European power until the 1880s. In 1883, fearful of growing foreign influence, the British colony of Queensland annexed the south-eastern part of New Guinea, against the wishes of the British government. This initiated German interest in the remaining third of the island and on 3 November 1884, under the newly founded Neuguinea-Kompanie (New Guinea Company), the German flag was flown over Kaiser-Wilhelmsland, the Bismarck Archipelago (formerly New Britain) and the German Solomon Islands. On 17 May 1885 the German Emperor granted an Imperial charter to the New Guinea Company for this annexation, and on 13 November 1886 this charter was extended to the Solomon Islands. On 1 April 1899 the German government formally took control, and the area became a protectorate. A treaty with Spain, signed on 30 July, ensured German control over several island groups in the Pacific, and these were added to the protectorate of German New Guinea.

The economic life of German New Guinea’s small population of European and Asian settlers, as well as its indentured native population, relied heavily on the export of copra and the import of goods and services and it remained a modest outpost. Indeed by August 1914 there were only 1,273 Europeans living in the colony, while there was also a small but significant number of Japanese, Chinese and Malays.

The RAN Brigade, supported by men from Australian warships, landed at Kabakaul, German New Guinea, (New Britain), to seize the German wireless station there. HMA Ships AUSTRALIA, SYDNEY, ENCOUNTER, PARRAMATTA, YARRA, WARREGO, AE1 and AE2 supported the landing, and stood by to repel any German warships. The brigade forced their way inland, encountering strong resistance from German native troops lead by German Army Reserve officers. Five naval personnel were killed or died of wounds;LCDR C. B. Elwell, RN; AB W. G. V. Williams; AB J. E. Walker;AB H. W. Street; Signalman R. D. Moffatt; Also killed was Captain B. C. A. Pockley of the Australian Army Medical Corps. AB Williams was the first to be killed, and thus had the dubious honour of being the first Australian to be killed in action during WWI. LEUT T. A. Bond, RANR, distinguished himself in the advance by single handedly capturing 30 native troops, and was later awarded the DSO, which, although not gazetted until 1916, was technically the first decoration awarded to an Australian during WWI

The SS ESTURIA was chartered as a destroyer depot ship. She transferred to the RN in 1917.

The War Office issued Army Order No. 382 on 11 September 1914 authorising six divisions numbered from 15th to 20th. It was the 2nd New Army and during September 1914 the formation of 16th (Irish) Division began. Lieutenant-General Sir Lawrence W. Parsons was appointed to command on 23 September 1914.

Gen. Parsons opened his headquarters in Dublin. But because 10th Division had priority in organising and first claim on accommodation and training areas, 16th Division was sent south to Munster. Divisional Headquarters moved on 8 October 1914 and established itself at Mallow, Co. Cork. The headquarters of its three infantry brigades were: at Fermoy, 47 Brigade, Buttevant, 48 Brigade, all in Co. Cork; and in Tipperary town, 49 Brigade. The artillery was at Cahir, Fermoy and Kilkenny; the engineers at Moore Park, Kilworth.

(...) In the meantime, the solution was the Infantry Equipment, Pattern 1914. The pre-war changeover, from leather Pattern 1903 to web Pattern 1908, had left many former military leather goods suppliers out of work. Some went out of business, some changed and prospered, and some just hung on but, for the most part, that capability was still there and very much under-used. Pattern 1914 put that resource to use, through a requirement to produce a version of Pattern 1908 in leather. It wasn't an exact copy - the Australian Pattern 1915 equipment is much closer to Patt. ‘08 - but it was close enough. The new leather pattern was approved on 30th August, 1914, followed by approval of a detailed Specification on 11th September, 1914. The New Armies had to be trained, so Pattern 1914 would be used during this phase. The picture on the right shows one of "Kitchener's Mob" wearing Patt. '14 in training at Aldershot. (...)

World War I diary, black-covered, written by Private Alan Horner, service no. 2033, H Company, 6th Battalion, 2nd Infantry Brigade, 1st Division AIF, September 1914 - October 1915. The diary includes details regarding service in Gallipoli. A pencil and a leave pass for 8/7/19 accompany the diary.

Alan Horner was born in Castlemaine, Victoria, and became a grocer. He joined the Cadets as a youth and was serving in Area 66 as a 2nd Lieutenant when he enlisted in the AIF at the age of 18, on 11 September 1914. He embarked from Australia on 21 October 1914. He joined his unit at Gallipoli on 15 May 1915, just 20 days after the first landing. He was wounded on 8 August, and on 10 August was admitted to the No.2 Field Ambulance Dressing Station suffering 'debility and shock'. He was transferred to a casualty clearing station, and sent to England by ship. He was admitted to Wandsworth Hospital, England, on 23 August suffering a 'disability' that was 'not stated as being serious'. He remained in England from that point on, and in September 1916 was attached to the AAPC (Australian Army Pay Corps). In January 1918 he was reprimanded for the offence of being 'improperly dressed', failing to wear 'chevrons and distingushing colours'. Weeks later he was admitted to hospital again, this time with influenza (just prior to the 'Spanish Flu' pandemic). In May 1918 he began a cadetship with the Australian Flying Corps, and in June was an RAF cadet, 'training as flying officer (Pilot)'.

He was a 2nd Corporal when repatriated to Australia from overseas in December 1918. He was discharged from military service on 23 March or 13 May 1919 (some variation in dates of discharge recorded) - due to being medically unfit due to an accident while not on military service. He later applied for a War Service home.

(...) From the 1890's various regiments in the British Army had Lodges operating within the regiment but it was during the Boer War that we find the first references to soldiers from various regiments forming a Lodge at the front.

This was of course to become a common occurrence during World War I when numerous Warrants were issued not only to troops but also to sailors and most ships in the Royal Navy had Lodges "on board" at this time.

Indeed the first British naval casualty of World War I was Able Seaman William George Vincent Williams, a Member of L.O.L.92, Melbourne, Australia, killed in action on 11th September 1914.

It is estimated that in excess of 200,000 Orangemen from across the world saw service during the first War some 80,000 from Canada alone. This has been described as Orangeism's greatest triumph and its heaviest defeat. Triumph in the number of volunteers who joined the war effort but defeat in that the Institution lost so many of its young men. (...)

At the end of his first diary book, kept between 22 August 1914 and 11 September 1915, Barwick wrote this about his account of Gallipoli:

I must now close this book at this stage. I will write the rest of my experiences in another one. Everything in this is absolutely true as far as I can remember there are no lies in it and anyone reading it can believe what’s written. It has been a task but I have stuck at it and am about full of it for a time. I hope all at home will find something of interest in it for them, for that is the reason why I wrote it. I must now finish, my next job will be to get it home safe. I don't like trusting it through the mail, but I must find some plan.

Rest on Lemnos — 11-27 September 1915

First days on Lemnos

We were landed about 11 o’clock [c.11 September 1915] that morning and some of the chaps were that weak that a motor ambulance fetched them round to the camp [Sarpi Rest Camp]. As we passed the hospital the Drs [doctors] and nurses came out and had a look at us and I heard one nurse say ‘poor fellows they look more fit for the hospital than anything else’ and she was right. Half of them knocked up before they got round to the camp. On the way over we had to cross a long arm of the sea a sort of backwater. It was a short cut so you can bet we went across it though it was up to our thighs in places.

Arrived at Sarpry [Sarpi]camp thoroughly knocked up, and were detailed off to the tents. How glad we were to throw our packs and rifles off and to get outside and buy some grapes and figs. The grapes were very plentiful and cheap you can buy enough for three as you could eat [?] … Everyone gorged themselves with fruit for you know we were fruit hungry and it was a sort of craving we had on us. Needless to say we paid pretty dearly for it the next day didn’t our stomachs ache and roll. Eggs also were plentiful and we used to get any amount of them and cook them for our tea.

All that afternoon the boys kept straggling home one by one for some of them had to have a dozen spells [rests] before they could get round. Needless to say we slept soundly that night, for we were away from the sound of the guns for the first time for many months, and we missed them but in the right way. The next morning we had a good breakfast and had the day to ourselves. The first thing we done as you might guess was to have a good clean up wash and shave. There was no roll call that day. Some of us washed our clothes over at the well. There was a bonzer spring there and we made full use of it. A day after this we were all issued with new clothes and felt like new men. The lousy clothes were all burnt and we were clean once more.

Lawrence Pearsall Jacks (9 October 1860 – 17 February 1955), usually cited as L. P. Jacks, was an English educator, philosopher, and Unitarian minister who rose to prominence in the period from World War I to World War II.

Better that the nation grow poor for a cause we can honor, than grow rich for an end that is unknown. Who can regard without deep misgiving the process of accumulating wealth unaccompanied by a corresponding growth of knowledge as to the uses to which wealth must be applied? This is what we see in normal times, and the spectacle is profoundly disturbing. Far less disturbing at all events is that process of spending the wealth which we have now to witness.
"The Peacefulness of Being at War." in The New Republic (11 September 1915), p. 152

The spirit of fellowship, with its attendant cheerfulness, is in the air. It is comparatively easy to love one's neighbor when we realize that he and we are common servants and common sufferers in the same cause. A deep breath of that spirit has passed into the life of England. No doubt the same thing has happened elsewhere.
"The Peacefulness of Being at War." in The New Republic (11 September 1915), p. 152

First tank demonstrated to British military leaders, 11th September, 1915

The idea of an armoured tracked vehicle that would provide protection from machines gun fire was first discussed by army officers in 1914. Two of the officers, Colonel Ernest Swinton and Colonel Maurice Hankey, both became convinced that it was possible to develop a fighting vehicle that could play an important role in the war.

On the outbreak of the First World War, Colonel Swinton was sent to the Western Front to write reports on the war. After observing early battles where machine-gunners were able to kill thousands of infantryman advancing towards enemy trenches, Swinton wrote that a "petrol tractors on the caterpillar principle and armoured with hardened steel plates" would be able to counteract the machine-gunner.

Swinton's proposals were rejected by General Sir John French and his scientific advisers. Unwilling to accept defeat, Colonel Ernest Swinton contacted Colonel Maurice Hankey who took the idea to Winston Churchill, the navy minister. Churchill was impressed by Swinton's views and in February 1915, he set up a Landships Committee to look in more detail at the proposal to develop a new war machine.

The Landships Committee and the newly-formed Inventions Committee agreed with Swinton's proposal and drew up specifications for this new machine. This included: (1) a top speed of 4 mph on flat ground; (2) the capability of a sharp turn at top speed; (3) a reversing capability; (4) the ability to climb a 5-foot earth parapet; (6) the ability to cross a 8-foot gap; (7) a vehicle that could house ten crew, two machine guns and a 2-pound gun.

Eventually Lieutenant W. G. Wilson of the Naval Air Service and William Tritton of William Foster & Co. Ltd. of Lincoln, were given the task of producing a small landship. Constructed in great secrecy, the machine was given the code-name tank by Swinton. The first prototype landship, nicknamed Little Willie, was demonstrated to Ernest Swinton and the Landship Committee on 11th September, 1915.

Little Willie, with its Daimler engine, had track frames 12 feet long, weighed 14 tons and could carry a crew of three, at speeds of just over three miles. The speed dropped to less than 2 mph over rough ground and most importantly of all, was unable to cross broad trenches. Although the performance was disappointing, Ernest Swinton remained convinced that when modified, the tank would enable the Allies to defeat the Central Powers.

From World War I there are 204 War Graves of Australian men and 72 War Graves of New Zealanders on the island of Malta looked after by the Commonwealth War Graves Commission.

Andrew John BERRY, 487, Corporal, 19th Battalion, Australian Infantry. Died of his wounds on 11th September 1915, aged 26 years. The son of Archibald Campbell and Mary Jane Berry, of ‘Loch Lomond’, Saratoga, New South Wales, Australia. Born at Dubbo, New South Wales, Australia. Buried in Pieta Military Cemetery

The Quebec Bridge (Pont de Québec in French) crosses the lower Saint Lawrence River to the west of Quebec City, and Lévis, Quebec, Canada.

Second design and Collapse of September 11, 1916
On September 11, 1916, when the central span was being raised into position, it fell into the river, killing 13 workers.[4] Immediately fears of a German sabotage were reported; however, it was soon clear that another tragic construction accident had befallen the structure. Re-construction began almost immediately after the accident and special permission granted for the bridge builders to acquire the steel that was in high-demand because of the War effort. After the bridge's completion in 1917, special passes were required for those wanting to cross the structure. Armed soldiers, and later Dominion Police, guarded the structure and checked passes until the end of the War.

The Battle of Kisaki was a confrontation between German and South Africa forces near the town of Kisaki, German East Africa, on 7-8 September 1916. (...)

Smuts called off the attack on 11 September and withdrew his forces to the Central Railway. Lettow-Vorbeck had gained some breathing space from the British forces pursuing him, and on 14 September he abandoned Kisaki and marched his forces south to establish a new base at Beho-Beho.

The Day They Hanged an Elephant in East Tennessee Saturday, May 1, 1993 - Joan Vannorsdall Schroeder

It was 1916, and things were changing fast. World War I raged in Europe. Dadaism, ripe with comic derision and irrationality, took hold in artistic circles. Freeform jazz took hold of the American music scene. Margaret Sanger opened the first birth-control clinic. It was a good year for scapegoats. It was a good year to hang an elephant.

The Place
Erwin, Tennessee seems to be a polite and patriotic town, where campaign signs ask voters to "Please Elect...," then thank them in advance. It's a place where many of the Main Street businesses mark the Fourth of July by closing down for four days, and nobody seems to mind the inconvenience.

In 1916, Erwin was a railroad boom town, home to the Cincinnati, Clinchfield, and Ohio Railroad's repair facilities, "sprouting like a boy growing too fast for his own britches," according to longtime resident Hank S. Johnson. The population of Erwin (which was supposed to be called Ervin, in honor of the man who donated 15 acres of land for the town, but was misspelled by a postal worker) nearly tripled in the first 16 years of the century. Makeshift boardwalks stretched above the ankle-deep yellow mud in the streets.

The Clinchfield line used to carry coal out of the Tennessee mountains; Clinchfield and Blue Ridge Pottery were the major employers in Erwin. For decades, the railroad yards were the busiest place in town.

Now, the yards are quiet: pigeons roost in the old passenger station, and most of the tracks are dull from disuse.

This is where Murderous Mary, a five-ton cow elephant with the Sparks Brothers Circus, was hung by the neck from Derrick Car 1400 on September 13, 1916. The story of why and how Mary died is, of course, obscured by time and countless retelling: an example of the best and worst of oral history. It is tragic, absurd, excessive: quintessential turn-of-the-century America.

The Players
Charlie Sparks, the owner of Sparks World Famous Shows, was a frustrated man. His circus was two-bit, compared to his southern rival, John Robinson's Four Ring Circus and Menagerie. A circus's net worth was measured in rolling stock and elephants: Sparks' dog-and-pony show traveled in a mere 10 railroad cars, compared to Robinson's 42; Sparks could boast of only five elephants compared to Robinson's dozen. Never mind Barnum and Bailey -- 84 railroad cars was beyond Charlie Sparks' reach.

So Charlie did the best he could, traveling around the South, putting up advance posters and enticing folks with a noon circus parade prior to the day's two performances. Sparks posters claimed a certain degree of moral superiority:

"Twenty-five years of honest dealing with the public!"

"Moral, entertaining, and instructive!"

"The show that never broke a promise!"

What else did Sparks offer? Educated sea lions. Greasepainted and powdered dogs and humans, posing like Greek statues. Clowns. The Man Who Walks Upon His Head. And elephants.

Mary was billed as "the largest living land animal on earth"; her owner claimed she was three inches bigger than Jumbo, P.T. Barnum's famous pachyderm. At 30 years old, Mary was five tons of pure talent: she could "play 25 tunes on the musical horns without missing a note"; the pitcher on the circus baseball-game routine, her .400 batting average "astonished millions in New York."

Rumor and exaggeration swarmed about Mary like flies. She was worth a small fortune: $20,000, Charlie Sparks claimed. She was dangerous, having killed two men, or was it eight, or 18?

She was Charlie Sparks' favorite, his cash cow, his claim to circus fame. She was the leader of his small band of elephants, an exotic crowd-pleaser, an unpredictable giant.

On Monday, September 11, 1916, Sparks World Famous Shows played St. Paul, Va., a tiny mining town in the Clinch River Valley.

Which is where drifter Red Eldridge made a fatal decision. Slight and flame-haired, Red had nothing to lose by signing up with Sparks World Famous Shows: he'd dropped into St. Paul from a Norfolk and Western boxcar and decided to stay for a while. Taking a job as janitor at the Riverside Hotel, Eldridge found himself pushing a broom and, then, dreaming of moving on.

Eldridge was hired as an elephant handler and marched in the circus parade that afternoon. It's easy to imagine that what he lacked in skill and knowledge, he made up for with go-for-broke bravado. A small man carrying a big stick can be a dangerous thing.

The Proceedings
No one denies that Mary killed Eldridge in Kingsport, Tenn. on September 12, 1916. The details of why and how it happened, gathered from oral-history tapes from the Archives of Appalachia at East Tennessee State University, vary so wildly that they should be read with skepticism, and no small dose of chagrin.

Version I. After the Kingsport performance, Red Eldridge was assigned to ride Mary to a pond, where she could drink and splash with the other elephants. According to W.H. Coleman, who at the tender age of 19 witnessed the "murder":

There was a big ditch at that time, run up through Center Street, ...And they'd sent these boys to ride the elephants... There was, oh, I don't know now, seven or eight elephants... and they went down to water them and on the way back each boy had a little stick-like, that was a spear or a hook in the end of it... And this big old elephant reach over to get her a watermelon rind, about half a watermelon somebody eat and just laid it down there; 'n he did, the boy give him a jerk. He pulled him away from 'em, and he just blowed real big, and when he did, he took him right around the waist... and throwed him against the side of the drink stand and he just knocked the whole side out of it. I guess it killed him, but when he hit the ground the elephant just walked over and set his foot on his head... and blood and brains and stuff just squirted all over the street.

Version II. As reported in the September 13, 1916 issue of the Johnson City Staff, Mary "collided its trunk vice-like [sic] about [Eldridge's] body, lifted him 10 feet in the air, then dashed him with fury to the ground... and with the full force of her biestly [sic] fury is said to have sunk her giant tusks entirely through his body. The animal then trampled the dying form of Eldridge as if seeking a murderous triumph, then with a sudden... swing of her massive foot hurled his body into the crowd."

Version III. Maybe Mary was simply bored, as a staff writer for the Johnson City Press-Chronicle suggested in 1936. "The elephant's keeper, while in the act of feeding her, walked unsuspectingly between her and the tent wall. For no reason that could be ascertained, Mary became angry and, with a vicious swish of her trunk, landed a fatal blow on his head."

Version IV. Or did Mary kill Red Eldridge because she was in pain? Erwin legend has it that Mary had two abscessed teeth, which caused her such agony that she went berserk when Eldridge tapped her with his elephant stick. The infections were, of course, discovered only after Mary was killed.

Regardless of the details, the end was the same -- a man dead. Justice to be served. And besides, Charlie Sparks was no fool: no town in Tennessee would invite his circus to perform with a certifiably rogue elephant. Johnson City, where performances were scheduled for September 26, had already passed a privilege-tax ordinance restricting carnivals' oper- ations within city limits, in order to protect its citizens from wholesale fleecing; it was common knowledge that Johnson City officials were looking for an excuse to ban all traveling shows. As valuable as Mary was, she had to go.

The problem was, how?

Guns, of course, were the first course of action. Just after Eldridge's death, blacksmith Hench Cox fired his 32-20 five times at Mary; the story goes that the bullets hardly phased her. "Kill the elephant. Let's kill him," the crowd began chanting. Later, Sheriff Gallahan "knocked chips out of her hide a little" with his .45, according to witness Bud Jones. But the circus manager stated, "There ain't gun enough in this country that he could be killed"; another approach would have to be attempted.

Someone suggested electrocution: "They tried to electrocute her in Kingsport -- they put 44,000 volts to her and she just danced a little bit," railroader Mont Lilly claimed. Others report that electrocution was never an option, because there wasn't enough power running in the railroad yards to affect Mary. (Since most American railroads continued to use steam locomotives until the 1930s, it's curious that railroad electrocution was even a possibility.)

Other reports suggest a third execution method: hooking Mary to two opposing engines and dismembering her, or crushing her between two facing engines. Both were dismissed as too cruel.

And so it was decided, instead, that Murderous Mary would be hung by the neck from a derrick car the next day.

The Execution
Mary didn't perform for the matinee performance the day she died. She was chained outside the circus tent, and folks say she spent the entire performance time swaying nervously. The crowd's dissatisfaction with her absence was mollified by the announcement that Mary would be hung in the Clinchfield Railyards later in the afternoon -- with no additional charge for admission.

More than 2,500 people gathered to watch Mary swing near the turn-table and powerhouse on that drizzly afternoon; perhaps the number of eyewitnesses, as well as the unforgettable, sad spectacle of the event, explains the consensus on this part of the story.

One of those witnesses, Myrtle Taylor, remembered that every child in Erwin was at the Clinchfield Yards. "And they took the other elephants and Mary down Love Street from the performance to the railyards, trunk to tail. We kids hung back because we were scared to death, but still we wanted to see it."

Wade Ambrose, who was 20 at the time Mary was hung, recalls that the roustabouts chained Mary's leg to the rail, then drove her companions back around the roundhouse.

"They had a time getting the chain around her neck. Then they hooked the boom to the neck chain, and when they began to lift her up, I heard the bones and ligaments cracking in her foot. They finally discovered that she'd not been released from the rail, so they did that."

It doesn't seem surprising that the chain from which Mary hung snapped shortly after she was raised off the ground. It was, after all, just a 7/8" chain, and Mary weighed 10,000 pounds. She hit the ground and sat upright, immobilized from the pain of a broken hip.

"It made a right smart little racket when the elephant hit the ground," says eyewitness George Ingram, with admirable understatement.

Seeing Mary loose, not knowing that she had broken her hip and couldn't move, the crowd panicked and ran for cover. Then one of the roustabouts "ran up her back like he was climbing a small hill and attached a heavier chain"; the winch was put in motion a second time, and Mary died.

They left her hanging for a half-hour, witnesses say, and then they dumped her in the grave they'd dug with a steam shovel 400 feet up the tracks. (The reports of the grave size vary from a too-small 10 by 12 feet to "big as a barn.")

When Mary's massive and valuable tusks were sawed off is a matter of debate. Some, such as eyewitness M.D. Clark, claim that "they dug down that night and cut her tushes off." Mont Lilly, who helped hang Mary, claims someone made a pair of dice from the tusks.

A careful observer of the one photograph allegedly taken at Mary's hanging will notice that the elephant suspended there has no tusks. So either Mary's tusks were removed before she was hung -- or they were removed after the hanging and Mary was "rehung" for a photo-op. A third possibility -- that the photograph was a hoax -- ought not to be discounted; when it was submitted to Argosy magazine for publication, the photo was rejected as a phony.

Tusks or no tusks, Mary or a superimposed substitute: The photograph revealing the hung elephant is a mirror of the times, in which Old Testament, frontier justice was served (Mary had, after all, killed two or three or 18 men), and people's insatiable hunger for grotesquery was, at least temporarily, satisfied.

Eighty Years Later...
There is an antique shop in Erwin memorializing -- or capitalizing -- on Mary's death. The owners of the Hanging Elephant Antique Shop sell T-shirts emblazoned with Mary's likeness, which also graces the side of their building.

There is also in Erwin a woman named Ruth Piper, who has made it her mission to memorialize Mary, to wash the town clean of elephant blood. Piper believes that Erwin has for too long taken the rap for Mary's death.

"Kingsport, the railroad, and Mr. Sparks are to blame for what happened to Mary -- not Erwin. People feel so guilty about it -- we've got to release it. It is a sad, sad thing that happened, but we have to let it go."

Somewhat paradoxically, Piper wants an elephant statue and fountain built in town, a movie at the visitor center, a memorial wreath laid in the railroad yards. In October 1995, she presented her proposal to the Erwin Bicentennial Committee. Nothing came of it.

There is a final irony clinging to the story of Murderous Mary, one that firmly places Mary's murder in a time and place. In an article published in the March 1971 issue of the Tennessee Folklore Society Bulletin, author Thomas Burton reports that some local residents recall "two Negro keepers" being hung alongside Mary, and that others remember Mary's corpse being burned on a pile of crossties. "This belief," Burton writes, "may stem from a fusion of the hanging with another incident that occurred in Erwin, the burning on a pile of crossties of a Negro who allegedly abducted a white girl."

The murder of an elephant: a spectacle. The murder of "a Negro": another spectacle.

(...) On September 11, 1917, Captain E.F. Wilkinson was guarding a bridge over the River Canche. He had 150 armed men and 50 unarmed under his command when a group of mutineers of about 80 approached “some of them armed with sticks and notice boards.”

His soldiers failed to stop the men from crossing the bridge and one of them Corporal Jesse Robert Short of the Northumberland Fusiliers tried to persuade the men to disobey their officer.

In a transcript of his court martial on September 12, Short was quoted by Wilkinson and 2nd. Lieut. C.D. Thompson as saying about the Captain “That buggar [sic] ought to have a rope tied around his neck with a stone on it and be chucked into the river.”

Short was found guilty of attempted mutiny and sentenced to death. He was shot by firing squad three weeks later.

Captain Louis Fleeming Jenkin, Military Cross & Bar, (22 August 1895 – 11 September 1917) was a First World War flying ace credited with 22 victories. (...)

He was shot down later in the day on the 11th, after his morning victory, by Otto Schmidt of Jasta 29. (...)

A final summary of his victories is two enemy airplanes destroyed on fire; six others destroyed singlehanded; two destroyed in cooperation with another pilot; twelve driven down out of control. He is commemorated on the Arras Flying Memorial.

Sargent was commissioned to do a large painting for the Hall of Remembrance depicting the ‘fusion of British and American forces’.4 Trying to find a worthy subject, Sargent, along with his old friend Henry Tonks, travelled to France in July 1918 and, after spending some time as Earl Haig's guest, joined the Guards Division under General Fielding near Arras. On 11 September 1918, he wrote to his friend, Charteris, ‘The nearer to danger the fewer and the more hidden the men – the more dramatic the situation the more it becomes an empty landscape’. Of the three night-scenes he goes on to describe, one engrosses him: ‘a harrowing sight, a field full of gassed and blindfolded men’.

Dr. Thomas Woodrow Wilson (28 December 1856 – 3 February 1924) was the 45th state Governor of New Jersey (1911–1913) and later the 28th President of the United States (1913–1921).

Is there any man here... who does not know that the seed of war in the modern world is industrial and commercial rivalry? ... This war, in its inception, was a commercial and industrial war. It was not a political war.
- St. Louis (11 September 1919)

Must Pay the Soft Drinks TaxWashington, Sept. 10. — The Bureau of Internal Revenue has come to the aid of confectioners who have been annoyed by customers refusing to pay the war tax. The bureau reminds the public that the repeal of the tax on soft drinks, passed by the House, has not yet been acted on by the Senate, and the tax is still in force. The public is reminded that wilful refusal to pay the tax subjects a person to a fine of not more than $10,000 or one year’s imprisonment or both.

A Proud History - A Bright Future
The History of Army ROTC at Santa Clara University

World War I: The Military Science program at Santa Clara was revived at the outbreak of World War I. By 1917, the entire campus took on a martial atmosphere. On 13 April 1917, Father Thornton, the President of Santa Clara University, on behalf of the President and Board of Trustees, wrote to the Adjutant General of the Army in San Francisco to offer the War Department the free use of Santa Clara’s halls, classrooms, and laboratories, and grounds for the purpose of training any units of Army Officers of the Reserve Corps. Shortly before the 13 April 1917, four companies of unarmed, uninformed students conducted military drill under Captain (Retired) J. L. Donovan.

During the World War I era, drill was conducted twice a day, once from 1300 to 1400 then from 1535 to 1645. Four companies were formed, which were led by students with previous military experience. The Government looked very favorably on the letter Father Thornton wrote, which resulted in uniforms and arms immediately supplied, along with strong consideration for Santa Clara to become an Officers’ Reserve School. The Government strongly considered plans to have Santa Clara be conducted on the lines of West Point as early as the following semester.

Since the students lived on campus, it appeared that the plan was workable. Soon after, the plan was adopted.

On 11 September 1917, the program gained Army recognition. Santa Clara was to gain the military distinction of being selected as an Infantry Unit, Senior Division Reserve Officers’ Training Corps. At the time, Santa Clara was the only institution of learning in the west that was granted an Officers’ Reserve Training Corps. In 1917, Captain Donovan was selected as the first Professor of Military Science and Training and subsequently promoted to Colonel. In 1918, Colonel Donovan was commended for managing the only institution on the West Coast to have cadets live in barracks and under constant military discipline, such as that found in cadets from military institutes on the East Coast, such as Virginia Military Institute and the United States Military Academy. He was recognized for his achievements in putting together a "good" Students’ Army Training Corps despite lack of equipment from the War Department.

The First Division took Soissons in July 1918. The Soissons victory was costly - more than 7000 men were killed or wounded. The First Infantry Division then helped to clear the St. Mihiel salient by fighting continuously from Sept. 11-13, 1918. The last major World War I battle was fought in the Meuse-Argonne Forest. The Division advanced seven kilometers and defeated, in whole or part, eight German divisions. This action cost the 1st Division over 7600 casualties. In October 1918, the Big Red One patch as it is now known was officially approved for wear by members of the Division.

Claude Eugene Chapman
Claude Eugene Chapman was born 6 July 1891 in Brookdale, Cumberland County, Nova Scotia, the son of George Thompson ("Richard") and Mary A. (Brownell) Chapman. He signed an Attestation Paper at Valcartier, Quebec on 28 September 1914 at the age of 23 to join the 17th Battalion. He stated he was a farmer, single, and he gave as next-of-kin his father, George T. Chapman, who was living in Head of Amherst, Nova Scotia.

Claude Chapman survived the war, and married Margaret E. Beaton on 11 September 1918 at Amherst Shore, Nova Scotia. They had a family of six children. He was a conductor for the Canadian National Railway.

11/09/1916
Leave granted, 48 hours to Port SAID.
Fell in for inspection by orderly officer and gtr Daly rmple i/c rode to Brigade further inspection wearing borrowed felt hat, FIELDERS borrowed spurs, HOPE - riding breeches, leggings, drill tunic and stripped belt. Noticed wallaby or rabbit catcher at Brigade, he has been transferred. Lt. TRELOAR who is orderly officer, got his promotion on peninsular and went away to England ill, just returned 2 or 3 days ago with 36 reinforcements. Arrived at Brigade and Staff Captain HUDSON reads we're saying all passenger traffic on Port SAID - MAHAMIDIYA line discontinued on account of washaways. Heavy seas. Returned to camp. Received mail containing copy of letter from Mrs EWIN's to Mr WELLS re death funeral etc. Of late Commonwealth Taxation Commissioner.
Later. Did not go to PORT SAID. All leave stopped more like that we go to BIR EL EBD.

Loose page diary relating to the First World War service of 30137 Gunner Alexander Sutherland Mackay, 8th Australian Field Artillery Brigade. This diary written between 8 September 1918 and 11 September 1918 cover the units' move through Perrone; the movement of his unit behind the line, ready to get back into action when needed; how plans of action are now kept secret until the last moment rather than all knowing a week beforehand; how the Germans ransacked the vault in the local cemetery and how angry this has made the men.

Britain has raised the thorny matter of money with Jersey’s Government recently. It follows an original request made three months ago for a direct contribution from the Crown Dependencies towards the cost of the war effort. Since the disbandment of the Militia in February 1917, Britain has met the cost of Jersey’s defence - an arrangement, the Home Office points out, hardly seems fair.

A letter to the Lieutenant Governor follows the original request for payment made back in June this year. Yet, as the Permanent Secretary to the Home Office, Sir Edward Troup, reminded General Wilson, the British Government is still awaiting a response.

Jersey’s position on the matter remains the same however. Having voluntarily met the cost of Militia mobilisation since the start of the war until February 1917, the States would rather not have to pay anything more. The total expenditure ran to just over £96,000, a financial commitment that came close to bankrupting the island at times. It took the issuing of public war bonds to meet the cost.

Nevertheless, General Wilson has been assured, the matter of a financial ‘gift’ towards Britain’s war effort is under consideration.

(...) One hundred years ago this month, just as the first world war was drawing to a fitful close, an influenza virus unlike any before or since swept across the British Isles, felling soldiers and civilians alike. One of the first casualties was the British prime minister and war leader, David Lloyd George.

On 11 September 1918, Lloyd George, riding high on news of recent Allied successes, arrived in Manchester to be presented with the keys to the city. Female munitions workers and soldiers home on furlough cheered his passage from Piccadilly train station to Albert Square. But later that evening, he developed a sore throat and fever and collapsed.

He spent the next 10 days confined to a sickbed in Manchester town hall, too ill to move and with a respirator to aid his breathing. Newspapers, including the Manchester Guardian, underplayed the severity of his condition for fear of presenting the Germans with a propaganda coup. But, according to his valet, it had been “touch and go”. (...)

This afternoon was the colour of water falling through sunlight;
The trees glittered with the tumbling of leaves;
The sidewalks shone like alleys of dropped maple leaves,
And the houses ran along them laughing out of square, open windows.
Under a tree in the park,
Two little boys, lying flat on their faces,
Were carefully gathering red berries
To put in a pasteboard box.
Some day there will be no war,
Then I shall take out this afternoon
And turn it in my fingers,
And remark the sweet taste of it upon my palate,
And note the crisp variety of its flights of leaves.
To-day I can only gather it
And put it into my lunch-box,
For I have time for nothing
But the endeavour to balance myself
Upon a broken world.